


Christmas Miracles (of sorts)

by ylc



Series: Christmas is a season for miracles [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Awkwardness, M/M, Mystrade Advent Calendar 2017, Sort Of, some light pining, they're around 25 in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 17:41:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12916950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: Mycroft was just trying to get breakfast, honestly.





	Christmas Miracles (of sorts)

**Author's Note:**

> And here’s my contribution for the Mystrade Advent Calendar! A very special thanks to lmirandas and egmon73 for their kind input on this little story and another special thanks to EilidhOg for proofreading. You guys are the best!  
> Enjoy!

_ Oh, the weather outside is frightful/ But the fire is so delightful/ And since we've no place to go/ Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow _

It was that dreaded time of the year : Christmas time.

Mycroft had never been particularly fond of the holidays .  When he was a toddler they meant days of enduring family visit after family visit; people he didn’t see at any other point of the year cooing at him and pinching his cheeks, telling Mummy how big he was getting. Mycroft would try his best to behave and be polite, for he longed to be left alone.

Then, when he was  older ,  it meant looking after Sherlock while Mummy and their extended family made random chit chat. As they both grew older, the family visits decreased and so the holidays meant quiet dinners with his parents, trying to get Sherlock to behave and stopping him from saying anything that might prompt an argument. He rarely succeeded, but he kept on trying.

And when he left for college… well. He had gone back home during the first holiday break but after enduring another  _ unpleasant _ dinner, he had decided enough was enough and he had determined to spend the holidays on his own; even if he did feel bad for his little brother who now had to endure their parents all on his own.

Of course Sherlock is off to college now, and, as far as he knows, he has already made his excuses for not showing up at their parents home this year. Mycroft is in the process of coming up with a believable story of why he can’t  be there yet again; he hates lying but he simply can not endure another dinner full of veiled recriminations and snide remarks. 

He taps his fingers against the counter absentmindedly, trying to come up with a believable lie while he waits for his order to be ready. He had known he’d end up working in the government as his father and his father before him and so forth had. He’s quite determined to do much better than any of his ancestors though, and his new position is perfect for such endeavour. Of course his job includes fetching his boss and half of his coworkers  their  morning coffee and breakfast, but a job at the Prime Minister’s office is not something to scoff at. He only needs to keep his  eyes  and  ears wide open and be at the right place,  and  know the right things , at the right time.

It won’t be long before he moves  on  to better (bigger) things.

In the meantime though, he’s stuck in the little cafe in front of the government building, waiting for the barista to have his order ready. It’d be easier if his co-workers stuck to the same order every day, but Mycroft has the theory they enjoy making his task as time consuming as possible.

It’s no matter. Things won’t be like this for much longer.

_ I'm dreaming of a white Christmas/ Just like the ones I used to know/ Where the treetops glisten and children listen/ To hear sleigh bells in the snow _

He holds back a groan as yet another holiday-themed song starts playing. His task was bothersome enough before, but ever since December started he has been listening to the same cliched songs non-stop and it’s slowly driving him mad. He taps his fingers a bit more impatiently and the barista offers him a small apologetic smile that he finds himself returning. It’s not the poor girl’s fault, of course , and Mycroft is not about to make her job more difficult by complaining about how long it’s taking.

He glances at his watch before discreetly turning to look at one of the cafe’s corners, where the handsome constable usually sits. Mycroft had discovered the man on his very first visit at the cafe, but while he’s tempted to stare at him while he waits for his order (the man is a most welcome distraction) he has stopped himself from doing so ever since the man caught him at it. While the constable had smiled at him and winked in what Mycroft supposes could have been described as a flirtatious manner, Mycroft had been too embarrassed to even attempt to reciprocate, promptly dropping his eyes to the floor. 

As a result, he’s much more careful about his gawking now. It’s regretful that his foolish behaviour has lost him his biggest source of distraction while waiting for his order, but the few glances he manages to steal every now and then are pleasant enough.

The man is still at his usual seat, sipping from his cup absentmindedly while he peruses the morning paper. Mycroft’s heart flutters inside his chest and he immediately chides himself for his foolishness. He was an awkward teenager who grew into an awkward  adult , so his experience with romantic matters is practically non-existent. He has had a few crushes over the years, naturally, but he has never known how to approach people. The few dates he had through his college years were always the result of  not so good intentions on his partners’ side and so he had figured he was better off alone. As he watches the handsome man though, he wishes he hadn’t  sworn off relationships, if only  so he would have  had some clue what to do about this situation.

In truth, it’s silly to even be thinking about it. They’re two strangers that happen to buy their breakfast from the same cafe, but they probably have nothing in common (not true; based on his observations Mycroft can think of at least 5 subjects they could discuss where they’re equally minded). And anyway, even if, by some miracle, they  _ hit  _ _ it _ _ off  _ splendidly, it’s not like Mycroft has any time for  _ relationships.  _

But-

The constable turns in his general direction at that moment and Mycroft blushes scarlet when their eyes meet. The man offers him a seemingly sincere smile that warms him up inside right away and he suddenly finds it hard to breath, as a thousand butterflies get unleashed inside his stomach.

Damn it all. And he thought all those things were exaggerations that only happened to the heroines of romance novels.

He gets pulled back into reality when the barista kindly informs him his order is ready. He blushes further, thanking her while he clumsily picks up the many bags and coffee cups, before heading in the direction of the door.

“Need some help?” the handsome constable asks, already pushing the door open for him and Mycroft is certain his whole face is as red as a tomato; he certainly can feel his cheeks and ears burning. He mumbles a quiet thank you and the other man smiles at him once more, which makes his steps falter.

They stand outside the small cafe for what feels like hours, Mycroft unsure of what he can possibly say that won’t sound stupid. Finally he settles for another whispered thank you, before turning tail and hurrying down the street, cursing his awkwardness.

“Goodbye, Mycroft,” the man says and he stops dead, turning around once more to face the constable, but the man has already turned around the corner and so he’s well out of sight.

Mycroft frowns, unsure of what he’s feeling.

How did the man know his name, anyway?

* * *

 

The barista’s curly handwriting on his coffee cup provides him with a suitable theory on how the constable learned his name. He used to take a seat in the corner, where he can more or less ogle the handsome constable without being overly obvious but ever since November rolled around, the shop has had more customers and so Mycroft has been forced to wait by the counter. Before though, he usually got so lost in his staring, that the barista had to call his name a few times before he even heard her.

God, he’s been quite obvious, hasn’t he?

But the constable doesn’t seem to mind and might even reciprocate his interest, if their earlier short interaction is any indication. Of course Mycroft has no idea how to read flirtatious cues, so maybe it’s all inside his head. Then again…

The man  not  only bother ed to learn his name, he made sure Mycroft knew he knows it. Surely it means something, right? Surely…

“Holmes!” his boss snaps, making Mycroft flinch at the sharp tone. “Whatever is wrong with you today, kid? Normally you’re paying much more attention.”

Mycroft tries to stop himself from flushing and succeeds somewhat. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Peterson. Was there something you wanted?” he asks, hating  that he has become so distracted by his morning encounter. Good lord, relationships are definitely a huge distract ion . And he’s not even in a relationship just yet, so maybe-

He forces himself to pay attention to what Mr. Peterson is saying, nodding along the man’s instructions, deciding to put all thoughts about romance and  _ flirting  _ out of his head.

He can think about that later.

Although maybe he shouldn’t.

* * *

 

The next month is a special kind of torture. Mycroft can’t exactly stop visiting the cafe, but he’s not quite sure what should he say to the other man or if he should say anything at all. The handsome constable smiles at him every morning, but he doesn’t approach him or helps him with the door again and soon enough Mycroft has convinced himself he exaggerated the meaning of that little encounter.

It’s sad and perhaps a little pathetic. By Christmas Eve he’s so melancholic he nearly agrees to  head home for Christmas Day, if only to stop his mother’s guilt trip for not visiting enough, but luckily his good sense kicks in before he agrees to something that will only succeed  in making him feel even more despondent.

He ends up leaving the office at his regular hour, even though his boss had said they could leave early. The night is a little too chilly by then; the weather forecast predicted some snow late at night and so Mycroft had thought he’d hurry home and lock himself in to read a book next to the fire, perhaps have some hot chocolate to warm himself further. But when he walks past the small cafe he reconsiders his plan, taking a quick look inside, the cozy atmosphere inside the shop  is  much more alluring than the freezing wind he’ll have to brave on his way home.

He slips into the cafe before he can think better of it and orders himself a hot chocolate. The woman behind the counter isn’t the same from the morning, but she offers him a kind smile all the same and he quickly notices his usual spot is empty, so he hurries to sit there, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to chase the cold away.

The warmth from the room lulls him into a pleasant stupor and soon enough he loses track of his surroundings. He only comes back to reality when someone places a cup in front of him, before taking a seat on the cozy chair on the other side of his table and Mycroft looks at the newcomer with a furrowed brow that he quickly smooths down when he notices who the newcomer is.

“Hello again,” the handsome constable says, taking a small sip from his own drink. “Fancy meeting you here, this late at night.”

Mycroft bites his lip, unsure of what to say. The man has been taking notice of his habits and he’s not sure how he feels about that. It feels a bit stalkery, perhaps, but then he’s been shamelessly staring at him for an inappropriate amount of time, so-

“That came out wrong, didn’t it?” the man says after a while, taking Mycroft’s silence the wrong way. “I didn’t mean… well, of course I’ve noticed you only show up in the morning, but I didn’t mean… It wasn’t my intention to make it sound like I’ve been watching you. Although I have. No, wait, that’s not-”

Mycroft laughs softly, finding the rosy colour the other man’s cheeks have acquired adorable. The constable smiles pleasantly, before depositing his cup on the table. “I  don’t think I’ve introduced myself . Greg Lestrade, pleasure to meet you.”

“Mycroft,” he says, shaking the other’s offered hand. “Although you knew that already.”

Greg blushes once again, before shrugging sheepishly. “Yeah, I sort of… I mean, I just paid attention when the barista called your name.”

Mycroft nods, watching the other man thoughtfully. He’s even more handsome this close up and he finds himself at lost of what to say. He’s no good at this flirting business, but-

“Am I bothering you?” Greg asks suddenly, eyes very wide. “I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no,” Mycroft interrupts him, picking his drink  up,  if only to have something to do with his hands. “I just… I don’t know what to say. I’m not used to this sort of thing.”

Greg frowns, tilting his head to the side. “This sort of thing? Strangers inviting themselves to sit with you?”

Mycroft chuckles, shaking his head. “No, well, yes. Flirting, I meant.”

“Oh,” Greg says, with a sly smile on his lips. “Really? Handsome fellow like you? I find that hard to believe.”

Mycroft blushes scarlet, taking one nervous sip from his chocolate. “I don’t… I’m not…  _ handsome. _ ”

Greg is watching him funnily and Mycroft’s stomach twist with nerves. The constable smiles once again, leaning back on his seat comfortably. “So you don’t mind if I keep you company? No one should be alone on Christmas Eve, anyway,” he says and Mycroft shrugs non committedly, since he has no particular opinion on the subject. “Right. You’ll have to excuse me if I become a little tongue tied now and then, but regardless of what you say, you’re quite handsome, Mycroft.”

Mycroft scoffs, but doesn’t argue, offering his companion a small pleased smile that makes Greg beam happily at him.

Well, talk about Christmas miracles.

**Author's Note:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> The ending feels all kinds of weird to me, probably because it’s more of a beginning than anything else :P Used as I am to chaptered fics, I suppose that also makes it feel weird to me but I hope you enjoyed it! Maybe, if inspiration strikes I’ll add more someday, but I really don’t know :P  
> Thanks for reading! Be sure to check out the other works in the collection! And let me know what you thought, pretty please!


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